


All Quiet on the Wild Western Front

by crackficplease



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Farce, M/M, WTF (where's the foxtrot?), Wild West AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8662786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackficplease/pseuds/crackficplease
Summary: Bitty and Jack are living a comfortable-though-swelteringly-hot life in the small frontier town of Samwell, Arizona. But when a fellow cowboy and old friend of Jack's drops by due to a series of farcical misinterpretations, will their love survive the temptation of seeing ice again?
One thing's for sure: there's going to be a duel at sunrise, alright!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [http://alecsadlerr.tumblr.com](/gifts?recipient=http%3A%2F%2Falecsadlerr.tumblr.com).



**All Quiet on the Wild Western Front**

_ A Fanfic in Ten Acts _

**Act I**

 

It was a relatively normal day in the town of Samwell, Arizona. Cacti flowered. Cows grazed. Tumbleweed blew through the streets. The well was dry; all water was quickly evaporated in the burning heat.

 

A shriek broke through the calm, like the crack of a whip. “Another one of those gosh-darned letters?!”

 

Jack Zimmerman, cowboy and world-famous sharpshooter, winced. “Bitty, I'm sure that--”

 

“I'm sure that  _ what _ , Jack,” Bitty said. He crumbled the unopened envelope in his hands. “What are you so sure of?”

 

Jack sighed. “Nothing, Bitty,” he grumbled, and growled.

 

Bitty was not disturbed by this. Jack's primary forms of communication were grumbling and growling, rather like a bear, mountain lion, or other large Canadian predator.

 

“Darn Pony Express,” Bitty said. “Instantaneous communication is ruining our ability to communicate!”

 

Jack kindly refrained from mentioning Bitty's 150-character telegram habit. “Let's just open it,” Jack said. “See what he has to say. It can't be that bad.”

 

With trembling hands, Bitty flatted the envelope and ripped it open.

 

The letter inside read:

 

_ DeaR JaCK, _

_ ToDay i WResTLeD 2.5 beaRs Come FinD GoLD WiTH me _

_ love kent _

 

“Bless his heart,” Bitty said. The cold in his voice could have iced over Samwell’s well (presuming, of course, that the well was for once not dry). “Does he think that these are -- are romantic or something?”

 

“I don't know,” Jack said.

 

“How do you even wrestle .5 of a bear?”

 

“I don't want to know,” Jack said.

 

“We need to stop this,” Bitty said. “This is an unacceptable situation.”

 

“It's not that bad,” Jack said.

 

A stack of older letters fell over, and coated their entire bedroom floor with paper.

 

“We need to stop this,” Jack said.

 

**Act II**

 

“Well, I'm glad that's over with,” Bitty said.

 

“Yes, I too am glad that I have written and sent a letter to Kent that could in no way be farcically misinterpreted,” Jack said.

 

They waved goodbye until the Pony Express had retreated into the Arizona dust.

 

**Act III**

 

Three days later, a short blond man burst into the Haus Saloon. “Is this the residence of one Jack Zimmerman?” he yelled.

 

Behind the counter, Ransom stopped polishing glasses. “Dude, you're Kent Parson.”

 

“Heck yeah I am,” Kent grinned, and flopped against the counter. “The world’s best sharpshooter, most famous cowboy, and a semi-kinda-sorta successful-ish Californian gold hunter to boot.”

 

“Bro,” Holster said. It was a mark of respect.

 

Kent drew himself upwards, basking in the praise like a Gila monster in the sun. “So yeah,” he said. “I need to talk to Zimms.”

 

“Why?” Ransom asked.

 

Kent stood up, and pulled himself up to his full height. This was not particularly impressive; he was maybe half a foot taller than Bitty. “Because,” he said, “we are in love.”

 

“Bro,” Holster said. It was a response to a funny joke.

 

“I'm not kidding!” Kent snapped.

 

“Dude, I think you're mixing yourself up with a different short blond,” Ransom said.

 

Kent scowled and pulled a letter out of his shirt. He smoothed it out, and passed it to Ransom and Holster.

 

The letter read:

 

_ Dear Kent, _

_ No. _

_ With much love, _

_ Jack Zimmerman  _

 

Elsewhere, in the stables, Johnson the Metaphysical Cowboy stiffened. “i think there's been a farcical misinterpretation,” he whispered to his oddly misshapen horse.

 

**Act IV**

 

“Kent, I am not in love with you,” Jack said for the twelfth time that night. He leaned against the doorway of the Haus’ kitchen.

 

“It says right there on the letter,” Kent insisted. “'With much love'. You  _ love _ me!”

 

“It's called basic etiquette, sweetie,” Bitty said, his voice like honey and his hands shaking with fury. He squatted by the oven. He'd been stress-baking, but they'd run out of eggs, and with his last pie in the oven, anger was beginning to creep over him again.

 

“He said he loves me,” Kent said.

 

“Really,” Bitty said. “Well, bless your heart.”

 

“Kent, you do realize that I'm dating Bitty, right?” Jack said.

 

There was a terrible silence. Bitty watched his pie brown.

 

“...is that what those guys meant by a 'different short blond’?” Kent said.

 

“Yeah bro,” Shitty said, popping his head in through the doorway (he’d started his shift about an hour ago). “C’mon, I own this place; get over here, I'll pour you a glass of tub juice.”

 

“We've been dating for almost a year now,” Bitty said smugly.

 

“What?” Kent said.

 

“On the house. My treat,” Shitty said.

 

Kent turned to Jack, eyes wide. “I can't believe this,” he said. “I head off to California to find us a better life, and you replace me with the first short blond pioneer you find?”

 

“I didn't replace you, Kent,” Jack said. “Bitty could never replace you. We never dated, so me getting a boyfriend is more of an upgrade.”

 

Kent stared silently. Shitty edged out of the room.

 

Jack frowned. “Well, I mean, unless you count Shitty becoming my new best friend. That could qualify as replacing you, I guess.”

 

“Okay, that’s it,” Kent said. “I'm challenging your new boyfriend to a duel at sunrise. For your love.”

 

“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” Bitty said, pulling his pie out of the oven.

 

“Why would we ever agree to that?” Jack said.

 

“Zimms,” Kent said. “There’s snow where I live. No sand. No tumbleweed. Just snow and ice, as far as the eye--”

 

“We're on,” Jack said.

 

**Act V**

 

“Bitty, I am so sorry,” Jack said. “He seduced me with snow.”

 

“I know,” Bitty said. “I don’t blame you.”

 

“...really?” Jack asked.

 

“No,” Bitty admitted. “I blame you a lot, actually, but we can’t focus on that right now. I can blame you after we get through this. Together.”

 

“I love you too,” Jack said. He blew out the candles, and they crawled into bed.

 

There was a quiet slipping sound, and then a great slap.

 

Jack lit the candles again.

 

One of the stacks of Kent’s letters had fallen over.

 

“I hate him so much,” Bitty said.

 

**Act VI**

 

The next morning, Jack and Bitty rode down to the dueling grounds in silence. It was still dark out. Atop his beloved horse, Señor Bun, Bitty turned to look at Jack. If the duel went badly, this could be the last time they ever saw each other. He saw Jack’s eyes grow wide and blank, staring past Bitty. He watched as Jack twitched, like he had some last thing to say.

 

“Go on,” Bitty said softly.

 

“Oh dear  _ god _ what is that,” Jack said.

 

Bitty turned, and sighed. “It’s a cactus, Jack.”

 

**Act VII**

 

By the time they actually reached the duelling grounds, Jack had pointed out three tumbleweed, four further cacti, a rock, and Johnson’s oddly misshapen horse. Bitty was perhaps a little more than slightly cross, but, he thought, no one could actually blame him. He just had to write his will, for goodness’ sake; how else would his friends know to bury him with his favorite spatula?

 

“Oh dear  _ god  _ what is that,” Jack said.

Bitty slumped against Señor Bun’s neck and screwed his eyes shut. “My imminent demise,” he muttered.

 

“No, I’m serious, I don’t know what that’s supposed to be,” Jack said.

 

Bitty peeled his eyes open, and was immediately blinded by the blazing Arizona sun. He blinked. “What the...”

 

In the middle of the grounds, pie tins were piled, sky-high. Baker’s dozens of them. Every pie tin in town must have been added to the stack before them.

 

“It’s probably one of Lardo’s art projects?” Bitty said.

 

“Guess again,” Lardo grinned, stepping out from behind the pie tin pile. The rest of the Samwell residents followed her, as did a scowling Kent.

 

“wait how did all of us manage to hide behind that,” Johnson said, and was promptly ignored.

 

“Okay, I have no clue,” Bitty said. He dismounted Senor Bun.

 

Lardo grinned even wider. “Bitty, you’re in for a real treat.”

 

“You’re dueling with pie tins!” Holster called out. The sound echoed through the desert.

 

“I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?” Bitty said.

 

“That’s what I said,” Kent muttered. He crossed his arms.

 

“We’re dueling with pie tins?” Bitty said.

 

“Exactly,” Lardo said.

 

“Pie tins.”

 

“That’s right,” Ransom said.

 

“Pie tins?”

 

“Bro,” Holster said. It was an affirmative response.

 

“B-but how?”

 

“It’s simple,” Shitty said. “Each of you gets a horse and has an hour to prepare something using the pie tins. Juggle them, shoot them, make an art project out of them, fill them with sand, whatever. Then our three judges -- Lardo, Chowder, and Johnson -- will rate you on a scale from one to ten. Most points wins. In the event of a tie, Jack picks a winner. Bitty, are you okay?”

 

For Bitty had started to cry. “I love all y’all,” he sniffed.

 

“NO WE LOVE YOU,” Holster screamed.

 

“No, we love yo--” Bitty had started to say, but was cut off as the town of Samwell crowded around him and Jack.

 

“This is very heartwarming and all,” Kent Parson said, standing off to the side, “but I don’t have a horse.”

 

The group hug broke apart. “Dude, how did you get here from California without a horse?” Ransom asked.

 

“via a plothole,” Johnson the Metaphysical Cowboy said, and Kent gave a small start. “you can just use my horse.” And indeed, Johnson’s horse was suddenly standing in the dueling grounds.

 

“It’s settled then,” Shitty said. “Grab your tins.”

 

Kent and Bitty each grabbed a handful of pie tins.

 

“Mount your horses,” Shitty said, and raised his gun.

 

Bitty elegantly swung up onto Señor Bun. Kent clambered onto Johnson’s horse.

 

“Go!” Shitty called out, and shot his gun.

 

The two horses galloped off into the distance, raising dust clouds as they ran.

 

“Johnson’s horse really gives me the creeps,” Jack said, and the town of Samwell nodded their collective heads in agreement.

 

**Act IIX**

 

“Faster, Señor Bun,” Bitty yelled, and cracked the reins. “We need to get to the Haus’ kitchen!”

 

Señor Bun neighed in what could be interpreted in an affirmative manner. He galloped across the sands, faster than he’d ever run before.

 

They reached the Haus in a matter of minutes. “Good boy!” Bitty said as he dismounted. ”I’ll give you a carrot once I win this once and for all!”

 

He dashed into the kitchen, pulled out mixing bowls, spatulas, whisks. He grabbed flour, sugar, salt. He reached into the icebox and--

 

“Oh no,” he gasped.

 

**Act IX**

 

An hour later, Bitty arrived back at the dueling grounds, carrying two pies. Quietly, he slipped off Señor Bun, and carefully balancing his pies, leaned against Jack.

 

“What’s wrong?” Jack whispered into his ear.

 

Bitty sighed. “You know how yesterday we ran out of eggs?”

 

Jack blanched. “Oh no.”

 

“We’re just going to have to hope that these are good enough.”

 

“Contestants, step up!” Shitty said. “You’ve had an hour to prepare as best you can. Now, our judges will rate your skills. There can only be one!”

 

“That one is Bitty!” Holster called from the sidelines, and a great cheer went through the crowd.

 

Bitty stepped forward. Kent stepped up next to him, and glared at him out of the corner of his eyes. A hatred as white-hot as the desert sun, or perhaps even his oven, coursed through Bitty's veins. Who was this man to try to romance Jack, anyways?

 

“Eric Bittle, step forward and present to the judges,” Shitty said.

 

Bitty cleared his throat. “I baked y’all a pie,” he said. He watched as the judges bit into his pie.

 

“I like pie!” Chowder said. “10 points.”

 

“Dude, what went wrong here?” Lardo winced through her pie.

 

“No eggs.”

 

She bit her lip. “Uh, I'm really sorry, but as a fellow artist I can't give this more than 6 points?”

 

“I understand,” Bitty sighed. “I wouldn't want you to have to compromise your artistic integrity.”

 

“i’m not giving this vegan crap more than 3 points. it goes against my moral system and also the author needs me to do this to further the plot.”

 

Shitty gave Bitty a worried glance. “Uh, next contestant?”

 

Kent laid a pie tin full of rocks in front of the judges. “I panned for gold!”

 

“Don’t you need a river to do that?” Lardo asked, and picked up one of the rocks.

 

Kent beamed wider. “Yes.”

 

“1 point,” Lardo sighed.

 

“I like rocks!” Chowder said. “10 poi-- ouch!” Lardo had elbowed him in the side. “Oh, right, sorry, sorry.  _ 8 _ points.”

 

Lardo facepalmed.

 

“10 points,” Johnson said, “for dramatic tension.”

 

“NO,” Bitty screamed.

 

Shitty shifted uncomfortably. “...looks like it’s time for a tiebreaker?”

 

**Act X**

 

Jack stood in the center of the dueling ground (the pie tins had been cleared away). He stared at Kent and Bitty.

 

The two short blond cowboys stared back at him.

 

“I’m not great with words,” he started, and stopped.

 

“You can do it,” Bitty said.

 

Jack smiled at him gently. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t have much to say, really. Kent, I’m truly sorry to disappoint you. Again. But I love Bitty, and it’s real. When I’m around him, it’s like he brings cool snow to this hot desert, better than any real snow you could give me.”

 

“J-Jack,” Bitty said, and rubbed at his face. “You’re making me cry, sweetie.”

 

But Jack was tearing up too. “Oh, Bitty, you’re just so...”

 

The tears that streamed from their eyes brought fresh water to the desert as they kissed.

 

“Bro,” Holster said, and the town of Samwell rose as one and crowded around them again. Two group hugs in one day must have set some sort of record, right?

 

Shitty opened the Haus on the house for the rest of the day, and the party lasted long after the sun set, long after the moon rose. As the coyotes howled in the distance, they laughed and drank and sang under the stars.

 

Eventually, dreamlike, Jack and Bitty tumbled up the stairs to the apartment they shared above the Haus. Outside their apartment door, they kissed, long and deep.

 

“Jack?” Bitty said, resting his hand on Jack’s chest.

 

Jack blinked slowly. They were close enough together that Bitty could have counted every one of his eyelashes, if he had wanted too. “Yes?” Jack rumbled, like the Canadian predator he was.

 

“Marry me,” Bitty said.

 

Jack leaned in and kissed Bitty again. “Yes,” he breathed, and then they tumbled through the doorframe. As they did so, they knocked over one of the stacks of Kent’s letters, and they stopped and stared as the papers fluttered to the ground like snow. 

 

“We can have a bonfire at our wedding,” Jack said, and Bitty burst out laughing.

 

**Epilogue**

 

Kent Parson sat atop Johnson’s horse, and stared back towards the town of Samwell. Half a mile out, he could still hear the celebrations, joyful cheers and whoops. Something sat thick and sticky in his chest and throat. Jack didn’t need him.

 

Jack didn’t even want him.

 

“you okay?”

 

Kent started, and looked down. “Oh. Do… you want your horse back or something?”

 

“no bro it’s cool. i’m just here because the author wants you to have a happy ending.”

 

“Happy ending?” Kent snapped. “I’ve lost Jack, I have to go back to failing at panning for gold, and I’m stealing your horse because I don’t have another way to get back to California. What about that sounds ‘happy’ to you?!”

 

“you managed to get here without a horse,” Johnson the Metaphysical Cowboy said, and sat down in the sand. “how do you think you did that?”

 

Kent slid off the horse. “I don’t know, okay?” he said. “I’m not sure I know anything anymore.”

 

“it was a plothole,” Johnson said. “we’re in unbetaed wild west au crackfic based off of a webcomic about hockey players, bro. plotholes happen.”

 

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean,” Kent said.

 

“it means you should come with me and foxtrot,” Johnson said. He stood up and brushed the sand off his pants, and swung up onto his horse. “foxtrot is the horse.”

 

“Why?” Kent asked.

 

“listen kiddo i’ve seen the fourth wall and beyond it. i’m telling you, come with me on some weird-ass doctor who-style adventures and i’m sure we’ll find a nice 40k kent parson/happiness fic somewhere.”

 

“I have no clue what you’re saying,” Kent said, “but I am totally done with panning for gold. Forever.”

 

“allozy,” Johnson said, and helped Kent up onto Foxtrot. “yes that was a doctor who ref dear fic readers. i don’t actually like dw so you can blame this whole trippy ending on the author, okay? also she wants more johnson/kent and i’m like 90% sure it’s influencing my current behavior, so.”

 

“ _ No _ clue what you’re saying,” Kent snapped. He wrapped his arms around Johnson’s waist, and together they rode off to become the heroes of another story.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Charlotte's high school graduation, July 2016. Her tumblr: http://alecsadlerr.tumblr.com  
> Best friends for life! <3


End file.
